


Quilts

by IsleofSolitude



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:14:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IsleofSolitude/pseuds/IsleofSolitude
Summary: Posted Jun 2004 on ff.net. Reposted here with no revision for archival purposes.Chichi thinks back on her life.
Relationships: Chi-Chi/Son Goku (Dragon Ball)
Kudos: 11





	Quilts

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for my 3rd anniversary of writing fanfic. That was in 2004. Wow. How far we've come...

I was a very creative child. I painted worlds in my head, and acted out stories with nothing but myself and a mirror. I made puppet shows for my parents. I used to tell my mama about how my wedding would be perfect, with me wearing my training outfit and how we'd get married in a stadium. Then I would change my mind and want to get married in a blimp, in a gorgeous red dress with ruffles galore and no shoes on. And then we'd skydive to get to our honeymoon. My mama and papa would laugh at how I changed my mind so often.

But the one thing I never changed my mind about was what my husband would be. He would be blonde, and bulk, as though he worked out, but he never worked out. He trained, but in moderation. I, being the independent girl I was, decided that he had to be weaker than me. He would cater to me, and cook for me. In short, he'd pamper and indulge me.

My mama's death changed everything.

My papa sank into a deep depression and began to go back to his old barbaric day. All the servants left, even my nanny, and I had to hold the castle together. I quickly learned to cook and clean. I taught myself how to sew, pricking my fingers till they bled, but I learned how too.

I remember, two years after my mama died, I began to work on a quilt. Papa had been cold lately, and his birthday was coming up. I gathered my materials and began to work in secret, using the room next to mine as my sewing room. It was hard work, cleaning the huge castle, cooking for myself and Papa, and sneaking away to quilt in secret. But I had finished it. It wasn't the best, it was badly crooked and the stitches were huge, but I was tremendously proud of my work. I had even managed to not get blood on it.

But nothing ever seems to work out this time of year.

Papa came home drunk. It was the anniversary of her death. I was nine. Papa came home and started tearing up the house. I was terrified. He was breaking chairs, pulling down curtains, and roaring about all sorts of stuff. I tried to speak calmly, as Mama has, to calm him down. But I was scared. This wasn't Papa. I stood in the corner as he roamed the castle. He threw open doors and rummaged through each of them, howling with anger.

He stopped howling when he came to the sewing room. The look of shock on his face made me catch my breath. Then he whispered, "Those…are her things…" I felt bad…I had cut up some of Mama's stuff to help with the quilt. That's what a quilt is, it's full of memories. Papa turned purple with anger. With two steps he crossed the little room. With one hand he swept all of my tutorial books to the floor. With the other he upset my basket of clothe and quilting pins. I remember yelling at him, tears in my eyes. I was pleading with him to stop and he wasn't listening. Then he did it: he ripped my quilt, the quilt for _him_ , ripped it and tore it.

I turned white. I saw red. That quilt was as much as for me as it was for him. That was my therapy; that was how I got over losing my mama. And he had just destroyed it.

I turned and ran out of the house. I stumbled into the nearby forest, not caring if I was eaten by a dinosaur or not. I just wanted to outrun everything. I collapsed, eventually, of pure exhaustion, both physical and mental. I started to cry. And I can still recall the words I spoke that day.

"Kami-sama…Kami-sama? Are you listening? Hello? If you are…I just want to see my Mama again. That's all I really want. I want to be with her. So could you give her back please? Or, take me to her? I promise to be good Kami-sama. I just…she loved the wind, you know? She always wanted to fly. If I could just fly, Kami-sama, I'll be with her. So can't you let me fly?"

I went back home the following morning, feeling as though I was chained to the ground, to this dismal and empty castle. My father was kneeling in the courtyard, puffy eyed and hung-over. We stared at each other for a minute before he started crying and I crossed over to comfort him. Papa quit drinking and we never spoke of that night again.

Things went back to normal, after that. I never went into the sewing room again; I couldn't bear to see my ruined quilt, which I had worked so hard for…

Another couple more years passed uneventfully. However, things just never go right for us. The castle caught on fire. Papa and I barely escaped with our lives.

Papa sent me on a mission to find the one man who could stop the fire: his old master, the turtle hermit, Master Roshi. And off I went.

My luck kept getting worse, from getting lost, to almost being eaten by a dinosaur, to getting knocked out by that guy, and then waking up to find out he's in love with me. It was the first time a guy had really talked to me, so to say I was overwhelmed was an understatement. And then he left, and I met…

Goku.

I could go on all week about Goku. He's strong, brave, cute, shy, naïve, loyal, slow to anger, and…

 _He took me flying._ I almost broke down in tears. I could almost hear Mama's voice again. I whispered under my breath, "Arigato, Kami-sama."

Well, anyways. I won't chatter on about my adventures with Goku, but when he left I thought I felt my heart crack. But I saw him occasionally, normally when Papa and I needed help. Goku may be useless a lot of times, but he's always there when it matters most. But after awhile…he didn't come by anymore. Papa said he was too busy, but that he would be back one day. I couldn't accept that, so I decided to go look for him.

When I found him, my heart did break.

He didn't remember me. How could he not remember me? How could he not remember his fiancé? But I don't to feel sorrow, because it drags you down, and if I went down, I would never be able to come up. So I changed sorrow to fury. I was mad at him, and everyone knew it.

He kept asking me why, and even when I flat out told him I was his fiancé, he had no clue who I was. So I said that if he beat me, I'd tell him. Goku, nice guy that he is, doesn't even hit me and sends me flying. So I told him, "I'm Chichi, daughter of the Ox-King." He was flabbergasted. And so were his friends.

But he agreed to marry me despite having thought that "fiancé" was a food. I gave him my first kiss. He scowled.

That fight he had with Piccolo was the first of many times I'd worry about his safety. And when it was over, and he was safe, I was so relieved. When he grabbed my hand and we flew off, I can literally say is on the top ten of best moments of my life. He could have left me, like so many others had, but he didn't.

But Goku didn't love me. I knew that. He had forgotten about me. But I loved him, and I wanted to be a good wife to him. So I gave up the thing I loved most: Fighting.

Mama had never been a fighter. She was delicate, but so strong in her own way. She was…perfect.

Goku gave up being a god to marry me. Giving up fighting was the least I could to be a good wife for him. I didn't mind it, much.

Not too long later my son, our son, was born. Goku had tears in his eyes as he held tiny Gohan. "I love you." He whispered to the baby. "I love you." He repeated, but the second time around…he was looking at me.

When Goku died, I felt my heart break. I turned white. When they told me Piccolo had taken Gohan, I saw red. Visions of the torn quilt, the quilt I had forced myself to not think about, came to surface so suddenly that I felt dizzy. I locked myself away and sobbed.

You'd think that my friends would come to comfort me, wouldn't you? Well, they were Goku's friends at the time, not mine. They all had problems of their own, most likely. Of course. That's it.

When I finally saw Goku and Gohan again, Goku was in a full body cast and Gohan had been crying and was sporting injuries of his own. I pampered both of them.

Gohan left for Namek. I was so scared to let him, but I looked into his eyes and what I saw there made my heart melt. Gohan had the same eyes I had, when I forced myself to learn how to quilt and sew, cook and clean. He was mature enough. But that didn't stop me from worrying.

Goku understood. That's why, the night they left, I sneaked into the hospital and crawled onto his hospital bed. I needed to be with him. He held me as much as he could, which meant just barely stroking my hair and whispering words to me. I slowly relaxed, and the memory of the quilt slipped away.

So much happened to us after that. Goku going to Namek and thought to be dead, finding out he was alive but just didn't want to come home, fighting Garlic, Junior, Goku coming home, training for the androids, and Goku coming down with the heart disease.

That was one of the scariest times in my life. I was so scared that he wasn't going to make it, that he would die again. While I sat at his bedside, anytime he was relatively peaceful, I would quilt. That wasn't often, but it set my mind at ease, as though I had some control over my life.

And then, one day, he was better. That's another one of the top ten moments of my life. As soon as he was rested, he went to find the others. I threw back my arms, and he flinched, thinking I was going to hit him. But I gave him a half hug, wishing him luck. He smiled, one of the warmest smiles I've ever seen. But then again, Goku always has a warm smile. Then he left.

Then he died again, sacrificing himself for everyone else. And in vain, too. But Gohan saved the day. I can always count on my boys. I was devastated, though. I had lost him, again. And this time…

I was pregnant.

I stared at myself in the mirror the instant I realized it. I didn't want to raise a baby without a father. But then…I saw Goku's smiling face, and I stopped panicking. I could handle it.

When Goten was born, I took one look in his eyes and knew I had to train him. He had Goku's eyes. In fact, he looked just like him. He acted just like him. Goten's laughter helped me to slowly heal. He helped Gohan as well. Gohan had been moody since Goku died, but Goten was just what we needed.

Years later, Goku was allowed one day to come back. I will never forget that day. Seeing Goten meet his father was…more than words could say.

But did I mention nothing ever goes right around us?

Buu was resurrected and everyone died, including me. But my sons survived, which is all that matters. I don't regret for a minute slapping Buu. Did I want to die? No. But I knew that I probably would. I didn't care, though. I wanted to annoy it, even a little. I wanted to protect my Goten, give him more time. I wanted to see Goku and Gohan again.

So much happened after that… to try and list it would be redundant. But my boys always came though. I knew they'd never let me, or the world, down.

Gohan married Videl, and has a daughter, Pan. Goten is single at the moment. And Goku…

Goku is training a boy, Uub. It gets pretty cold in the desert at night. So I'm making him a quilt.

I've taken patches from so many things, all of them he'll probably recognize. He's not as dense as people make him out to be. I look at the quilt that's spread over my knees and finish the last stitch. I stand slowly, careful not to disturb it, and hang it on the couch until the next time he comes home. I look at it, my second quilt ever.

Its stitches are uneven, some small, some big. Some of the patches are crooked. There's dried blood I couldn't get out on some of the patches.

But it's ok. Because, however unusual it is, I know that this quilt won't end up being torn apart.


End file.
